


Polyklok

by abandonment (ihunger)



Series: Kloktober - 2020 [2]
Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Polyklok, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26776039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihunger/pseuds/abandonment
Summary: Four times Pickles helped his boyfriends, and one time that they took care of him.--Kloktober Day 2 - OTPWhat's a better OTP than all of them in one?
Relationships: Nathan Explosion/Pickles the Drummer/Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Toki Wartooth/William Murderface
Series: Kloktober - 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948789
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Polyklok

**Toki**

“Pickle?”

If Pickles had his way in the world, he would never wake up to Toki sounding like that ever again. It was that sort of heart-wrenching defeat and sadness that only Toki Wartooth could muster. It had to be bad, then. Pickles turned to check the time. 3 A.M. Really bad then. 

He sat up and saw Toki standing in the doorway of the room, Deddybear in the crook of his elbow. Even from this distance, the tear-stains running down Toki’s cheeks stood out.

“What’s up, Toki?” Pickles asked. He moved his blanket over so Toki could climb in and get comfortable, an offer that Toki took immediately. He climbed into the bed and got as close to Pickles as he could by pressing into his side.

“Nightmares,” Toki said, “I don’t wants to talks about it.”

Pickles didn’t blame him. He lay back down and wrapped his arms around Toki before pressing a kiss to his forehead. It may be a long night, but as long as Toki felt safe, Pickles didn’t care.

**Skwisgaar**

“Pickle. Can yous be doings me a favor?”

“Yeh, sure dude. What’s up?”

Skwisgaar walked over to the couch and sat on the floor, his back facing Pickles. Before Pickles could ask what he was doing, Skwisgaar spoke again. “I needs someone to braids my hair. Do yous know hows?”

It never came up much, but Pickles actually did. Being in a hair band meant that he learned how to do plenty of styles just in case they needed them for videos or concerts, and a simple braid was no problem for him.

“Totally.” Pickles took Skwisgaar’s hair into his hands. It was brushed to perfection and beautiful as always, just like the man himself. With practiced fingers Pickles began to braid, humming along to one of their songs as he did so.

“Thanks you,” Skwisgaar said. “I was goings to ask Nathans, but I thinks he is asleeps still.”

“No problem. What’s up with the new look anyways?”

“Just tryings something differents. Do you thinks it looks nice?” Skwisgaar held his hand out for Pickles to grab a band out of it.

Pickles made a noise of contemplation as he used the provided hairband to finish the braid. He looked at it intently for a few moments, before smiling.

“You look beautiful, Skwisgaar.”

 **Murderface**

“Hey, Picklesch, do you know how to put out a greasche fire?”

“What the fuck, Murderface?”

Pickles knew he could smell smoke but wanted to believe it was anything besides what he assumed it was. Murderface had wanted to cook all the boys dinner and they weren’t going to turn down a free meal, but the lack of cooking skills between all the members of Dethklok meant that this meal was destined to end in disaster.

The two men ran into the kitchen to see the culprit, a pot which was spewing flames upwards towards the ceiling. The smoke alarms were blaring and Klokateers were scrambling to find something to put out the fire. In the back of Pickles’ mind, he knew that using all of the fire extinguishers to have office chair races was a bad idea. Oh well. 

“Do we have bakin’ soda?”

Murderface nodded, rummaging around the cabinets before tossing a box over to Pickles.

Pickles stepped forward and began to dump the powder onto the fire. Soon, the fire was out.

“Just gotta put bakin’ soda on it, but, uh, we may wanna get some more fire extinguishers in here.”

Murderface was still less than pleased. “I juscht wanted to make a nische dinner for you all.”

“I know, Murderface, we really appreciate it. But, uh, I’m not sure we wanna start cookin’ again. Wanna pick dinner this night and we can watch a movie together? Maybe a band hug session will help you feel a little better.”

Murderface turned his head as he usually did when he was flustered. “I guessch.” The blush rising on his cheeks made Pickles grin. The night wasn’t ruined after all.

**Nathan**

“I think I’m losing my fucking mind, Pickles. Help.”

Pickles was in the same boat. His own head was throbbing from hours upon hours of playing drums, listening to the songs, and then subsequently having Nathan delete them. He ran his hands over his face and let out a groan of frustration.

“Nate’n, the fuck are we doin’ up this late tryin’ to work on the album. We should just go to bed.”

“No,” Nathan barked, “We can’t! I have to get this shit done, I don’t want to disappoint Charles again.”

“He wanted three demos by the end of the day. We don’t even have one!”

Nathan didn’t reply, instead just slamming his hand against the mixing controls. “This sucks dick. Like, so many dicks. I’m losing my touch, Pickles.”

“Come on, dude, don’t-”

“I can’t even write one fucking song anymore! What the hell are we doing here?”

Nathan stood and began to pace around the recording room as if the movement may bring him ideas for a song. The stomp of his boots aggravated Pickles’ headache more and the drummer stood as well, about to snap at Nathan before he saw that Nathan was on the verge of tears. 

“Fuck, Nate’n.”

Nathan stopped. “What?”

“You don’t look like you’re doin’ okay.”

“I’m not.”

“Do you want to-”

“No.”

Pickles sighed. In all of his time with Dethklok, moments like this weren’t uncommon. Even back in that shitty apartment, Nathan was a perfectionist. Hours would be spent in their rented studio while Nathan reworked and deleted songs on a whim because he felt they weren’t good enough. Nothing from their early days was fantastic, but Nathan had the talent to make these sessions worth it. Eventually, they’d come out with something better than they had before.

Where was there to go from here, though? They were already on top of the world. The weight of their popularity continued to push down on them, and things were about to snap.

Pickles approached the larger man, putting a hand on Nathan’s arm. “Nate. Let’s go to bed.”

“But Charles-”

“I’ll deal with Charles in the mornin’. Go to bed. Get some sleep. I’ll stay here and try to work on something.”

Nathan looked down at Pickles and found nothing but a determined look on the drummer’s face. He let his shoulders relax for the first time in hours, and he nodded.

“Yeah. Okay. Go to bed at a decent time too. I love you.”

“Love you too. Now, I gotta relearn how to play the guitar.”

**Pickles**

“Pickle, are you dyings?”

“God, I fuckin’ hope so.”

The drummer was wrapped in just about every blanket they could find in Mordhaus as he lay in his bed, attempting to sweat out what Charles insisted was a normal cold. Even if it was, it seemed Pickles wasn’t the best at dealing with illness. He had been drifting in and out of a cold medicine induced haze for the past few days, leaving the rest of the band to fend for themselves.

Toki pressed a wet rag to Pickles’ head, earning a full body shiver.

“I hopes you get to feelings better soon,” said Toki, “we hates to sees you all sads like this! You looks like a little puppy, whats got left on the sides of the roads.”

Pickles chose to take that as a compliment, unable to respond as he was wracked by coughs. When he finished, he slammed his head back down onto the pillow with a sigh. With a thud, the door to his room slammed open.

“Alright, Murderface, Skwisgaar, you know what to do.” Nathan’s voice rang out, and soon there was movement all around. Murderface pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and set a bowl of warm soup on the side table, stirring it before lifting up the spoon to Pickles’ lips. Pickles was more than happy to take it.

“What the fuck are you all doin’?” He asked. While Murderface was feeding him soup, he saw Nathan start opening all the blinds to let in sunlight. Well, what he assumed would be sunlight. In fact, it was a torrential downpour outside. The singer made a grunt of annoyance but kept the blinds open, making care to ensure that the windows themselves were closed.

Skwissgaar was next to act and let a large collection of books thump down onto the bed. Pickles saw that they seemed to be word searches and crossword puzzle books with a few coloring books sprinkled in.

“We’re here to make sure you have the best time possible while you’re sick.” Nathan said. “Sunlight. Food. Activities. Toki, where the fuck are the kittens?”

“Oh, fucks! Yes, I will grabs them.” He attempted to get up, but was stopped by Pickles’ hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Guys. I really appreciate this, but you know you don’t have to do all this shit for me, right?”

“How elsch are you going to get better, though?”

Pickles shrugged. “I dunno, but I don’t need all this shit and you all panicking about me. Why don’t you all just stay in here with me for a bit?”

The other men paused in their movements. Nathan scratched the back of his head and darted his eyes to the side.

“I uh. I guess we can do that. Sorry. We just worried about you.”

“It’s very sweet, trust me. Now get your asses up here. Unless, uh, you’re worried about getting sick, I guess.”

Skwisgaar shrugged. “Whatevers. We will deals with it when that happens.”

“Yeahs! When we gets sicks, then you can takes cares of us.”

As the rest of Dethklok got settled in Pickles’ bed, he smiled. That didn’t sound like a bad idea at all, really. He nuzzled those closest to him, pressing kisses to everyone’s cheeks. They all returned the favor which made Pickles’ chest feel warm and comfortable. This had to be the best band in the world.

“I love you all.”

A chorus of “We loves you too!” and “Love you, idiot.” rang out from the other men on the bed.

Besides from Murderface, who was interrupted by a cough.

“Fuck.”

Pickles closed his eyes. He’d enjoy his time of being taken care of for as long as he could.


End file.
